Sonnet
BY WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING .
An endless round of formless circumstance
The unthinking men go treading day by day,
As in the sparkling sunbeams the motes play,
And, like the busy crowd, keep timeless dance.
Struggles their food, anxiety their mind,
A pile of straws all disarranged and broke;
And tossing in the eddy of a wind,
Or played upon by some quick flail's sharp stroke.
Drink, drink, O men, yon azure's beverage,
Admit the sun's eye to your bandaged brain;
Let the free airs, as free, your thoughts engage,
And exercise to cast the tightening chain
Which now grips round this sinking, fainting age,
In cold paralysis of leperous pain.
An endless round of formless circumstance
The unthinking men go treading day by day,
As in the sparkling sunbeams the motes play,
And, like the busy crowd, keep timeless dance.
Struggles their food, anxiety their mind,
A pile of straws all disarranged and broke;
And tossing in the eddy of a wind,
Or played upon by some quick flail's sharp stroke.
Drink, drink, O men, yon azure's beverage,
Admit the sun's eye to your bandaged brain;
Let the free airs, as free, your thoughts engage,
And exercise to cast the tightening chain
Which now grips round this sinking, fainting age,
In cold paralysis of leperous pain.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.